Two: Over the Hill and Far Away

It wasn't long after Llorabell pulled together bedding for all the dwarves and wizard that she finally found a moment alone with Gandalf. The elderly man leaned against the wall by the back door, staring up into the cloudy night that only a few stars peeked out through.

"Gandalf?" Llorabell asked as she closed the door. "Do they know I'm a woman? The way they address me makes me think not."

The wizard hummed as he pulled out his pipe and, with a snap of his fingers, lit it. After a few minutes puffing away at it he finally spoke up. "I informed them of who you are, of course. They will call you Bilbo throughout this adventure. That is your name after all and the name you signed the contract with."

Llorabell frowned over the wizard's words but nodded all the same. "Alright." As long as they were aware Llorabell was fine with going. It wouldn't be right going with them unaware. The wizard and hobbit fell into a companionable silence. The smell of old toby reminding Llorabell of her father and evenings playing back here amongst the plants and fireflies. She was almost lulled to sleep on the stone bench as a vibrating rumble filtered through the kitchen window nearby.

"Far over the Misty Mountains Cold..."

They left Hobbiton with the sunrise. Llorabell quickly got ready and amazingly remembered all her gear. Meeting the dwarves outside as the sun crested over the hills and the crisp dawn mist settling heavily over them was daunting. She couldn't help but pause at the threshold of her door. The adventure began as soon as she took her first step outside her door.

"Hobbit, let's be off," ordered Thorin. Llorabell took a deep breath and stepped out, closing the door with a resounding click behind her. She looked up and stared over all the dwarves and one wizard. Someone had gone into town and brought back a string of ponies. She could count sixteen ponies and a horse. "Someone get Mister Baggins a pony."

"Wait, what?" gasped Llorabell, the hint of sleep vanished from her mind. Hobbits didn't ride ponies. They were built for nomadic life but that involved walking not riding mean spirited beasts three times their size. "I can walk."

"Nonsense Mister Baggins. We won't be able to have ponies the entire way so we will be using them for the time we can" explained Balin kindly, as if he was speaking to a child, "You will be thankful that we have them in the end."

Llorabell frown at the white haired dwarf in mild annoyance but walked over to the pony Kíli was waving her over to. Hobbits had jennets for long rides because they could control the animal easier. The pony she was given was like the others in having slightly longer hair then the ponies of the Shire. It was just as brown as the others too. "Myrtle's our most patient pony Mister Boggins," explained Kíli as he helped her up with a grin, "She'll follow any of us in front so you have no worries of wandering off. Just try and keep her from snatching any meals along the trek."

She nodded in understanding and muttered a pained thanks. She didn't want to be riding a pony but she seemed to have no choice. The day seemed to fly by with Llorabell studiously ignoring the looks all the hobbits they passed gave. She would be the talk of the Shire for months.

It took a week, without break for any meals beyond first breakfast and dinner, for them to reach Bree. The dwarves spent the days joking around and singing ridiculous songs or making poems up on the spot. Yet there seemed to be a barrier between her and the dwarves. Besides the odd joking comments from Fíli, Kíli or Bofur, the ride had held a stilted presence. She was ignored for the most part.

The few times she had tried to make conversation with some of the dwarves she had been rebuffed by their response. Grumbling to questions told her how welcome she was. The only one Llorabell felt truly comfortable making conversation with was Gandalf and he was up at the front of the line with Thorin most of the time or he would be gone entirely off doing wizarding things.

The evenings were better. They would spend nights in the local inn or a hobbit's barn. Llorabell was able to get news and gossip from the hobbits they stayed with while the dwarves continued to ignore her. Once they got to Bree Llorabell enjoyed sitting away from the dwarves and conversing quietly with some of the hobbits there too, even if their conversations consisted of worries over drought and some type of disease affecting much of the spring vegetable plants. It was better than grumbles. It was more welcome than ill placed humor.

After Bree, they traveled in much the same manner except there was no inn to rest at on most nights. Llorabell did what she could to help. She collected firewood and helped cook but she continued to be only politely spoken to and that politeness was more distant dislike, it seemed, as it never let up. Even the three dwarves that tried to break the ice with humor were distant and polite (or as polite as one can be calling her Mister Boggins day in and day out).

It was about another week into the traveling that Llorabell finally started to notice something even more frustrating. Until now she had avoided paying any mind to the rude dwarves and instead looked out over the too dry and yellowed land (it was spring! There should be more green!). One could stare out at plants for only so long, though. So she would find herself watching the dwarves in small spurts. If she had allowed herself to watch for more than a few minutes at a time she would have noticed sooner. They were having conversations with their hands.

Llorabell had read about hand languages. She had never seen one in action though. It was frustrating and it hurt knowing her companions choose to exclude her. She didn't belong. They were making sure she knew it.

Sometimes it seemed like they were starting to open up only for it to be a lie. One evening while she carefully embroidered the symbol for Bree across its proper spot on her cloak, Glóin came up to her and asked, "Why are ya always mending that cape, lad? It not of good quality?" Llorabell paused in her embroidery to explain, to only find Glóin had already moved away to talk with another. The general burst of sniggers from Kíli and Fíli over Glóin's remark didn't help matters.

The songs the dwarves bursted into, most often instigated by Bofur or Kíli, did give a vague sense of companionship. Not enough to comfort her since they never sang a song she knew. They were entertaining, crase, and vibrant songs but she felt excluded with not knowing the lyrics.

In the end, Llorabell Baggins was simply "The Hobbit" or "The Burglar" to the dwarves. She wasn't a dwarf. She wasn't a fighter. She was baggage the wizard brought along.

It was a month of boredom and increasing mental questions over why she had come, why had Gandalf insisted that she'd be the company's burglar. The scenery never really changed either. There was the one time they had gone through a small forested area during a deluge and learned of the true skills of wizards were but, beyond that, it just seemed like one giant land of yellowed, rolling hills only broken by tiny farming villages.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the Trollshaws, Llorabell was seriously considering going back home or breaking from the group and going to Rivendell. She was tired of trying and failing at becoming part of the group. She was tired of riding a pony. She just wanted to go home and curl up in her bed for a month. She wanted her proper number of meals again.

They stopped by a partly destroyed farm house and made camp. Llorabell was just close enough to hear part of the arguments between Gandalf and Thorin as she prepped food for their stew.

"We have a map we cannot read!" snapped Gandalf in frustration, "There would be someone in Rivendell that would be able to help."

"I will not take aid from the enemy," snarled Thorin.

Not long after, Gandalf left. The hobbit was not happy but continued doing her part in setting up the camp. Bofur handed her two bowls to take to Fíli and Kíli who were watching the ponies as they grazed.

"I brought dinner." Llorabell stepped up besides the two brothers. When neither went to take the bowls, the hobbit looked over at them. Their twin expressions of confused worry made her ask, "What's the matter?"

"Well." Kíli paused, unsure how to phrase his concerns.

"We have a slight problem," admitted Fíli, "We were supposed to watch the ponies." At the word "supposed", Llorabell's stomach dropped.

"There were sixteen," explained Kíli. Llorabell turned towards the ponies and started counting them.

At the moment she realized there was only fourteen, Fíli finished their explanation, "There's only fourteen now."

"Oh," breathed out Llorabell, "Shouldn't we go tell the others?"

"No, no let's not worry them," said Kíli quickly.

Llorabell opened her mouth to counter that foolish idea when the ground shook slightly. Turning towards the origin, the three of them crouched as one at the sight of the large creature walking by carrying two ponies. "Is that-"

"Troll," hissed Fíli before he and Kíli ran into the forest after it. Llorabell hurried after them.

A flickering fire light peeked out between the foliage before them. It took a little movement around before the three found a proper view of the fire. There were three trolls sitting around a giant fire. An equally huge cauldron hung above it. Four of their ponies stood trembling in a roped off section behind the trolls.

"They've got Myrtle," grumbled Llorabell, a slight hitch in her breath. She had grown to like that pony. "We should get the others."

"No, no," whispered Kíli before he and Fíli shared a look, "We were actually thinking.."

"You're our burglar, go burglar our ponies," ordered Fíli in his own whisper.

Kíli pushed Llorabell towards the trolls, while Fíli took the bowls from her hands. "If you need us, hoot once as a barn owl and twice as a brown owl."

Llorabell twirled around back at the two dwarves. "Wha-" They were gone. Llorabell stared helplessly at the empty forest. She didn't want to do this. It was so foolish. But, she couldn't help think that maybe she would be welcomed in the group if she did.

Llorabell slowly skirted the troll's camp and moved as quickly as she dared to the ponies. She was going to be eaten. When she saw her ma and pa, Llorabell was going to explain Gandalf's foolish plan and how it all was a bunch of dwarves fault they would never be grandparents. Maybe her kin would use this as a tale to warn foolish tweens from going off on adventures.

"Now don't be foolish my lad, if you go off on an adventure you'll end up just like sweet innocent Llorabell Baggins and become stew meat for trolls!"

The hobbit lass reached the ponies without incident. After a moment of tugging at the rope, Llorabell pulled one of her throwing knives from her belt and began sawing away. She paused with a repressed tremble whenever one of the trolls shifted anywhere near her direction. She firmly ignored the trolls whining conversation over only having mutton to eat and hoped that Yavanna was hiding her from their sight.

Finally the rope came apart and Llorabell stepped back to let the ponies free. The trolls turned with shouts towards their fleeing food. None of them look over at their pen as they rushed off after the ponies. Llorabell stared after in horror. The trolls were running towards the camp.

Llorabell snapped out of her indecision on what to do at the shouts that came through the trees. She pulled out two of her throwing axes and ran. The sounds of metal and war cries quite suddenly stopped as she reached the edge of the forest. Llorabell stilled behind some bushes as she watched in horror at the troll holding Ori upside down. The other dwarves all dropped their weapons on command.

One of the trolls scooped up their weapons and the other two forced the dwarves back towards their own camp. Llorabell stayed crouching behind the bush for some time, her mind a whirl of horrid thoughts. What was she going to do now? She couldn't save them. She was just a little hobbit.

Llorabell stood up and nodded at her thoughts. It was too late and she would never be able to save them. So she would go home.. or..or Rivendell and forget this ever happened.

The little hobbit got only a few feet away from the forest before she stopped again. Llorabell gave a slight shake, twirled around and ran back towards the troll camp. She had to try something.

The trolls were just finishing tying dwarves to a log when she made it to the camp. Half the dwarves were tied up in bags and the other half were being hung over the fire. The little hobbit fiddled with her cape as she watched, trying to think of something. The trolls had tossed all the dwarven armor in a pile besides their weapons. If she could just free them and get them to their weapons there may be a chance.

It would have to be a big distraction. The little hobbit paused at that thought. She could ask for help. The little hobbit hesitated for a second more. What she could do was not something she should as it could reveal secrets that should never be known.

Llorabell straightened up with determination before slipping further back into the forest. There she started whispering out a song in the earth tongue. The whispers of the world didn't change for sometime. Llorabell was beginning to think she would get no aid until a branch shifted from the tree in front of her and lightly tapped her head.

Llorabell smiled at that. The trees would aid her. With that Llorabell ran quickly, silently to the other side of the camp and slowly snuck up to the dwarves in sacks. A few moments of waiting was all that was left.

The loud roaring bang the trees created caught the trolls attention immediately. The second bang had all three running off to "destroy the bastards that wanted their dinner". Llorabell pulled out one of her knives and was at Thorin's side within seconds.

"Burglar!" shouted Kíli in relieved excitement. Llorabell wasn't as thrilled by his shout. She just finished cutting free Balin when crashing came back towards them. Thorin was part way out of the bag but she was the only one with weapons of any type. Llorabell handed her dagger to the dwarf king and moved away from the partly freed dwarves. She had to give them time.

One of the trolls crashed through the foliage roaring, "What burglar?" His beady eyes landed on Llorabell and lunged. She was able to dodge the first two strikes but the second rattled the ground hard enough to knock her off her feet. It lifted her up by one of her ankles. "What ya now?" It's beady eyes were narrowed. "Not a dwarf."

Llorabell reacted in panic by pulling out another dagger and slamming it up into the trolls wrist. It dropped her and she stumbled back. Crashes from the trees announced the return of the other trolls.

Llorabell pulled one of her throwing axes out as the first troll roared at her. It lunged again. The little hobbit reacted instinctively, throwing her axe up to meet the troll. Then her mind caught up with her and she dodged.

The troll slammed into the ground as the other two broke into the small clearing. The shaking of the ground made her fall again. Looking up, Llorabell had the perfect view of the downed troll. Her axe was wedged into its jugular. She had just killed a troll. That thought echoed through her mind as she stared in shock.

The clearing was filled with silence for a moment before the two trolls roared in pure rage and the dwarves shouted a mixture of cheers and warnings to get out of there. Llorabell quickly stumbled back up and pulled out two more throwing axes.

"Hand me one," order Thorin as he pulled one from her hand. Llorabell handed the other to Balin and began to pull out her last two when a loud crack filled the air.

"Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!" yelled a familiar voice as the light of dawn filled the clearing from where a large boulder had just been broken in half. The two trolls shuddered as their bodies turned to stone. Balin quickly yanked her throwing axe out of the dead troll as the light reached the body, also turning it to stone.

Gandalf walked down to them as Kíli, Glóin, Fíli, and Óin all finished getting out of the bags. Llorabell took her axes and cleaned the one Balin saved from turning to stone. With Gandalf's help they got the rest of the dwarves back to the ground and dressed. The hobbit lass stood silently staring down at the troll she had somehow killed. Pure luck but all the same, she had done that. No one back home would believe little Llorabell Baggins had taken down a troll.

"Burglar." Llorabell looked up to find the entire company just staring at her, "Exactly what was that?" Demanded Thorin.

Annoyance filled her at his demands. What had he expected? her just leaving them? "Couldn't just leave you lot to become troll dinner now could I?"

Their expressions told her that they had thought just that. She frowned at them before turning away. "I'll go see about our ponies."

"Burglar-"

"There must be a cave around here!" Gandalf interrupted from his place by the stone trolls. "They could not have moved in daylight." The wizard rubbed his hands together in staged excitement. "Trolls like to hoard things. There should be some gold at least."

At the word gold all the dwarves perked up and were soon splitting off in different directions in search of the cave. Llorabell caught Gandalf's stare for a moment. She smiled at his wink while he pronounced to Thorin, who was still staring at Llorabell, "The cave should be in this direction. If in question always follow the most worn path." Thorin followed the wizard after a moment longer. She still had Gandalf looking out for her.

Llorabell ended up finding no ponies. After an hour of looking she returned to their camp to find that most of the dwarves had returned and had righted the mess of their things. She pulled together her possessions - her embroidery items were still out alongside her still full bowl of stew and bed roll.

"Ah Burg- Mister Bilbo, you needn't put away your bedroll just yet. I believe we all could use some proper rest after last night." Spoke up Balin. "We'll see what Thorin has to say on the matter, of course."

The rest of the dwarves and Gandalf soon joined them. Quick orders for the camp to be moved into the forest for shade were made. They would take a few hours of the morning to get some sleep.

Gandalf pulled Llorabell to the side as Bombur started pulling out more food for everyone before the short rest. "Here, this should do nicely for you," said the wizard as he handed her a knife, though it was more like a sword by hobbit standards. "It is elvish made and will glow blue in the presences of orcs."

Llorabell took the weapon up and traced the swirled design of the handle. "I've little knowledge or skill with a sword, Gandalf."

"So I would hope of a gentle hobbit of the Shire but there may be a time you will need a blade."

A snort from Dwalin only added something to Llorabell's strangled stare. The dwarf explained, "You're aware that our hobbit was the one that took down the troll, right?"

Gandalf started at that. "I had thought Thorin or Balin had done that."

Llorabell ignored the input of the other dwarves as they all cheerfully gave details of what their burglar had done. She pulled her cape off and secured the small blade to her left, just before the set of throwing daggers on her belt. The cape didn't get in the way of pulling her weapons out with the slits built in like large pockets on each side but it did with adding another sheath to the belt.

"Ya got quite a few blades on yerself."

Llorabell huffed out as she looked up at Nori, "Yes and they have been on me since we left my home Master Nori." The star haired dwarf hummed as he handed her a bowl of new stew.

Food and sleep sounded lovely. "Thank you."

Nori answered back, his voice tinged with intrigue, "These are of dwarvish make. Are they all a matching set?"

Llorabell stared blankly at the two throwing dagger in Nori's hands. Her own hand fell to her belt and felt two empty sheath.

"Knew our hobbit had good tastes!" hooted Glóin as he took one of the daggers and looked it over carefully. "What these here markings mean, lad?" Llorabell didn't bother answering as the two daggers were passed around the entire company and each asked questions they seemed to not expect an answer to or at least they shouldn't as Llorabell was not going to tell them what the earthen tongue engraved on the blades meant nor could she tell them the details on the blades' forging.

It was when one of the blades made it to Óin that things got interesting. The near deaf dwarf pulled some of the leather of the handle up, revealing the odd runes inscribed on each blade handle, and almost immediately began exclaiming, "Khajima âzyungaz! Khajima âzyungaz!"

The rest of the dwarves were shouting back and forth and her blades were searched more thoroughly. Thorin stepped up to her with barely suppressed anger. "More a burglar than a grocer it seems."

"What?"

"You will give us what you have stolen and we will see it returned to its owner, burglar," ordered Thorin.

"I have never stolen anything in my life!" cried Llorabell. The scowl that crossed not only Thorin's face but the other dwarves made her take a step back. "What do you claim I stole?"

Balin spoke up, voice as cold as Throin's, "These blades are not yours, halfling. They were not crafted for you. We will have them returned to the lady they belong to."

Llorabell stared for a second before pulling a dagger out and looking over it herself. They didn't look all that feminine to her. "How do you even know they're for a lady? And why wouldn't they be mine for that matter?"

"Don't be a fool," snarled Glóin.

The hobbit scowled back at them. They were being ridiculous! "You can't return them to their owner. My great grandma has been long since dead and the dwarf that made them for her was killed in some battle! But if you insist on taking them from me then fine!" She pulled her belt off. "I'm sure my cousins will understand why I come home without them. No one's going to be outraged at me for losing courtship gifts of hers!"

Llorabell ignored the dwarves as she pulled her new sword off and tossed her belt at Thorin. Then she yanked the daggers from her boots and slapped them into the dwarf king's arms. A hand grabbed her arm as she moved to unstrap the axes from her thigh. She glared up at Bofur. "Lad, we didn't...ya can have them back."

The little hobbit made a noise in the back of her throat and pulled her arm from the dwarf. She turned and stomped away, fleeing so she didn't fall to the urge of speaking curse words she overheard in the Prancing Pony and from the dwarves themselves. It would be most improper and she was a proper hobbit no matter the adventure business she had been dragged into. She firmly ignored the quiet voice in her head as it whispered that she had never had an urge to curse anyone out nor had she know any cuss words before all this.

Dwarves, a bunch of cold, stubborn, rude fools!

It was Gandalf that finally came to get her some hours later. He silently sat down on the broken boulder and joined her staring off at the stone trolls. The wizard pulled out his pipe and quietly puffed away for a few minutes.

"My dear Bilbo, the dwarrow folk can be as stubborn as the stone they shape. There are things they have learned over the many years that shape their actions. Dwarves have a natural mistrust towards others and at times they do before they think. They were not aware that hobbits and dwarves have coupled in the past." Gandalf took a deep puff and breathed out smoke shaped like a boat. "I wasn't aware of such, in fact."

Llorabell hummed back at Gandalf, not bothering to give an answer to the unasked question. There were tales of interracial bondings, though none with elves. They happened a very long time ago, if at all.

"Well." Gandalf tapped clear his pipe and rose. "It is time we part from these woods. Here is your belt and blades. Come along."

They returned to the dwarves and began their trek towards the Misty Mountains. Thorin and Gandalf argued for most of the walk that day. Gandalf was continuing their argument from the other day. He was insistent that they stop at Rivendell. Thorin was less than inclined to go.

That evening, while she sat slightly away from the others but still close enough to see what she was embroidering, Ori sat down besides her.

"Excuse me Mister Baggins but may I ask you a few questions?" The young dwarf sat determined besides her, a pen and his journal out and ready. Llorabell hummed back an agreement as she finished the first of three swirled designs that represented trolls.

"Are you part dwarf because of your great grandmother?"

Llorabell paused to trade out her thread for the silver wire before answering with a shake of her head. "No. She... well.. She was actually my many great grandma. She lived when we hobbits were still wandering folk. The dwarf and she were courting but he was killed in battle before the courtship concluded or led to any children." Llorabell looked up at Ori with a sad smile. "Meralla Took would have never married after losing him either but her brothers all ended up dead without any children. She married and had a boy to keep the Took clan alive. She was considered rather old by the time that happened though. She would be thought of as a spinster now a days."

"Spinster?" Asked Ori in confusion.

Llorabell watched Ori write as she explained, "It's a term of phrase directed at women that don't marry and don't have children. It's considered improper — how are you writing that all without any ink well?"

Ori frowned up at her for a second, his thoughts clearly going over the first part of her words. The frown turned into a shy smile and he held out his pen. "It has a built in inkwell. Good for traveling but rather expensive. Nori got it for me when I completed my apprenticeship."

"And how exactly did he get ahold of that," muttered Dwalin a few feet away.

Llorabell ignored the grumbling exchange Nori and Dwalin started having as she looked with interest at the pen. "It's a wonderfully useful idea. I'll have to see about getting one someday. But whatever did you apprentice in, if it's not rude of me to ask?"

Ori smiled cheerfully back before it dropped a little. His hand flew up to one of his braids in mild confusion. "I'm a scribe Mister Baggins. Is my bead gone or something?"

"Oh!" Llorabell's eyes widened at that. "You're beads mean something important like that?"

"Aye, that they do." Glóin plopped down on her other side. "Our beads and braids tell a number of things such as status within what craftsmen guild yer are, clan yer from, marriage status and the like."

Llorabell tilted her head back slightly to get a good look at the braid and bead Ori had check on. "I apologize. I had read that they meant something but I didn't realize they were so informative."

"Do hobbits have anything similar?" asked Ori.

"Well. A little, maybe." Llorabell paused to think for a few moments. She had her undnum. The charms did tell somethings like her monetary status and who's family she was from but most had very personal meanings.

After a few moments of thought Llorabell thought of something very obvious. It was just an everyday normal thing like Ori knowing that his beads would tell anyone his craft and his skill at it. Embroidery was to hobbits what beads were to dwarves. "We all embroider our clothing and certain symbols and such mean different things. The older, wealthier clans and families have their own colors even. Not all of us have the money or time to do much embroidery though so it's not a perfect example I don't think but it's the closest we have."

"Really?" Ori looked intrigued and Llorabell watched as the dwarf's eyes fell to her cape still sitting in her lap with silver wire threaded to highlight parts of the swirls she created for the trolls. "That's what you're doing, embroidering your cape!"

"Yes but this is a little different," explained Llorabell with a smile, "It's a wanderer's cape. We traditionally embroider the tale of our travels on it. There are some we have from the wandering days that are filled with embroidery and basically have our history told across them, even if it is from a single person's perspective." She traced the embroidery she had made so far. Would she end up filling this cape with history? Could she dare have so many adventures?

"You're using wire," muttered Ori in fascination as he leaned in to take a better look.

"Oh yes both the Baggins clan and the Took clan colors involve wire, and I use both as my father was a Baggins and my mother a Took," said Llorabell as she continued threading the thin wire.

The next morning, Llorabell tried to ignore the stares from all the dwarves. They were all trying to get a good look at her cape but none of them asked to actually see it. If Llorabell didn't know better she'd have to say the dwarves were acting shy but they had never acted remotely shy throughout the journey with all their raunchy songs and poems.

Two days past before they reached the end of Trollshaws. During those two days the dwarves had clearly warmed to Llorabell. Killing a troll and saving them from becoming stew meat had apparently been the thing she needed to be welcomed in the company with some level of camaraderie. (She should have done it weeks ago.) The fact that she was almost dwarf kin through her many great grandma seemed to have also help their opinion of her and hobbits in general.

Now the company stood watching as Gandalf tried one last time to convince Thorin on going to Rivendell. It wasn't going very well, to the surprise of no one. A sudden howl cut the argument short.

"Is that a wolf?" asked Llorabell, her mind going back to the Fell Winter and the horrors the hobbits had lived through. She pushed the whispers of old nightmares and memories back firmly.

"Ah, no. No, that ain't a wolf," responded a surprisingly grim Bofur. What appeared to be a giant wolf rushed down at them from atop a forested hill. Kíli shot an arrow at it. The creature staggered for but a second, long enough for Dwalin to slam one of his war hammers down onto its back. A second giant wolf like creature pounced down onto Nori. Thorin's new elvish blade sliced into the creature's shoulder. A knife found its way into its neck and Nori rolled out from under the dead creature, pulling the knife out while he went.

"Warg scouts," spat Thorin. More howls filled the air. He turned away from the forest with a grim expression. "Run."

And ran they did.

Their packs weighed them down but the company ran as fast as they could through the prairie land before them, Gandalf at the lead. They used the rock formations to keep something between them and the pack. The howls of wargs chased them as they followed the wizard.

Then the wargs were upon them. Wargs slammed into Bombur and Balin. Bofur rammed the bladed side of his mattock into the warg struggling to get past Bombur's giant ladle. Dwalin body slammed the warg attacking his own brother.

Another growled from on top the mound of rock at their right. Looking up Llorabell shouted in horror, "Orc!" An arrow sprouting out of the orc's head. Then the rest of the pack was attacking. Everything became a blur.

An orc and its warg attacked the hobbit. Llorabell dodged the sword and slammed her axe into the orc's leg. A rock slammed precisely into the warg's eye. She danced out of the way as the warg fell and sliced the orc's shoulder down in a curved motion as it fell with it. Her hands trembled.

Three wargs charged her. She threw her axe. The warg dodged it. Glóin and Thorin exploded past her into the charging mess. An arrow took out one of the orc riders.

Fíli fought besides Dwalin and Balin as they kept four wargs and their orc riders away from Ori and Kíli. Bofur and Nori were tag teaming with Bifur against two riderless wargs. Bombur stood as guard over the ranged fighters. Óin and Gandalf were fighting three orcs who had gotten off their wargs.

Llorabell pulled out her galurims as one of the wargs fighting Dwalin broke past and charged Bombur. As she ran to help him, two other wargs rushed from tall grass from the back sides of Ori and Kíli. Llorabell didn't think, she simply let one of her circular blades fly. It carved across one of the wargs backs and slammed into the ground behind it. It's back legs gave out. Kíli, having followed Llorabell's flying weapon, put it out of its misery.

An arrow not from Kíli took out the second warg. A horn blared even as five more Orc bearing wargs moved to join the battle. Suddenly they were surrounded by horses, the warg riders having fled. Llorabell was standing in the middle of a circle of dwarves. She had no idea when they had moved.

Thorin hissed out, "Elves." His hand gripped his sword in a vice grip.

"Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn," said one of the highly decorative riders.

Gandalf stepped forward with a relieved smile. "Elrond, gi suilon!"

The group of elves dismounted and all but two spread out to look over the battlefield. Elrond grasped Gandalf's forearm and clapped him warmly on the back. "Mithrandir. Man le carel sí?"

"Aphado i Hadhodrim." Gandalf said as he waved his hand out at the company of dwarves. Thorin stepped forward, ready for battle.

"Man tôg?" asked Elrond as he looks over them all before settling on the dwarf king. "Ah, Thorin son of Thrain, I bid you welcome. I offer you a place of rest and time for recovery for you and your companions at my home."

Thorin moved to speak but Gandalf intercepted, "Of course we accept." The wizard turned and stared hard at Thorin, "After such a battle and, the last few days, rest is just what this company needs."

"Of course," bit out Thorin. With that the company slowly spread out through the battlefield to collect gear. Then they were off to Rivendell.

Elvish conversation between Gandalf and Elrond:
Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn. - A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

Elrond, gi suilon! - Elrond, I greet you!

Mithrandir. Man le carel sí? - Gandalf. What are you doing here?

Aphado i Hadhodrim. - I am traveling with a group of dwarves. (pulled this together myself so its not really correct)

Man tôg? - Who Leads?

Dwarven phrases:
khajima âzyungaz - A courting gift

Hobbittish/Earth Tongue:
undnum - heart guiding charms